


Break the Ice

by Tanista



Series: Second Chances [20]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bullying, Cold Weather, Drowning, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Rescue, Jack Dalton is a Good Friend, Minor Original Character(s), Small Towns, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Whump, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanista/pseuds/Tanista
Summary: Settling into Midwestern small-town life can be tough. Dealing with bullies and making friends at the same  time? Even tougher.





	1. Home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Cardinal Vices.

-Winter, 1987-

Garrison Keillor, Becky's decided, couldn't have made this stuff up if he tried.

(On Saturdays Mom always listened to _A Prairie Home Companion_ on the radio, laughing her head off. She never explained what was so funny about it, though.)

If there's ever a candidate for the real Lake Wobegon, it has to be Mission City. Small town, small minds. People plodding along, with no real ambitions or passions. Gossip as the municipal pastime.

(Of course she's from a smaller city herself, but at least it's the state capitol so that's gotta count for something.)

Even the landscape's dull. Flat land and gently rolling plains to match.

(The highest point in Minnesota's only 2,301 feet above sea level. To call it a mountain is laughable. She's seen real ones before- Mt. Hood's well over 11,000 feet, for crying out loud.)

Still. For now it's home. Has to be, really.

Uncle Mac lives here, after all.

********************

He didn't have to take her in. Becky knows that.

Divorced with only the coffee shop as a reliable source of income, and sometimes not even that. Not even a college degree, though he's one of the most intelligent, creative people she's ever known.

(The stories he used to come up with, when she was younger. A brave princess and her clever knight, having adventures and defending their imaginary realm using no weapons, only their wits. Those were the days.)

Hard enough making a living, in a small town whose main source of income closed over a decade ago, with nothing to fill the void. Surrounding farms haven't been doing so well lately either, due to last year's terrible drought.

And then she has to show up on his doorstep with the social worker and Mr. Malinowski (the family lawyer and her guardian _ad Litem_ ), flown in all the way from Oregon at state expense as he couldn't afford the airfare himself. Parents and brother dead in a car accident last May, on the way to Boy Scout summer camp near the coast. The brakes of a logging truck barrelling towards them suddenly gave out; no one survived.

He's struggling so hard and yet he takes her in purely out of love, when he could've easily released her to the vagaries of foster care and group homes, believing that to be a more secure future.

(She still feels guilt over the French Toast Incident. The lowest point in both their lives, and one that'll never be repeated again if she can help it.)

Yet despite everything they still have each other. Whenever she's with Mac she knows without a doubt she's loved and he'll never leave her friendless.

Neither would Jack Dalton, fellow orphan and out-of-towner. Always making her laugh. A wild and crazy guy, she remembers Mom calling him once. Mostly harmless, though. If only he didn't drink so much.

Unc's working himself to death, trying to take care of everything on his own. So Becky's decided to be the brave little trooper, doing what she can to help out. Working at the coffee shop after school and on Saturdays, sewing and knitting the rest of the time, making things to sell at craft fairs.

She's known how to sew when she was eleven, stuck in bed with the flu, bored to tears. Idle hands are the devil's workshop, according to Grandma Ellen.

Mac's even taught her how to whittle; she's been hoping for a Swiss Army Knife of her own, for Christmas.

Every little bit helps, as Mom and Dad always said when she was younger, to get her and Chris to pitch in. (They'd spent their college years living in a commune near Seattle, so they knew what they were talking about.)

So he works hard at the shop and she goes to school then at the end of the day they either read, watch TV or work on projects. But they also always be sure to spend lots of what she calls "quality cuddle time" together.

Everything's fine, really. Four years until she's eighteen. She can make it, here in this crummy Midwestern town so far from the Pacific Ocean.

If only it weren't for the other kids.

 


	2. In the bleak midwinter

They whisper about her at school.

_She's from the West Coast. Talks real funny._

_A nerd. Always with her head in a book._

_Teacher's pet. Showing us up, just because she's smarter._

_Thinks she's better than us. One of these days we'll show her._

** ********************* **

Becky walks through town on the way home from school in early January. The coming dusk seems to thicken the air, turning it deep purple. The snow crunches under her feet.

Trees bare, bitterly cold. She thinks longingly of rain, tall Douglas firs, the blue Pacific sparkling in summer. 

Still half-daydreaming, she doesn't notice there's anyone nearby until it's too late.

They're waiting for her as soon as she turns the corner, lounging right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Darryl Tollefsen and Lori Saperson, the meanest couple in school, along with four of their hangers-on and sycophants.

Oh, god.

"Why, what do we have here?" Darryl feigns surprise at seeing her. "Looks like the Western Geek."

"No doubt of it," Lori snidely replies. "Just look at those glasses, the books in its hand, that silly footwear. Too pathetic for words."

Automatically she looks down at her her new, brown buttoned snowboots, causing the others to snigger. 

(Christmas gift from Uncle Mac. Along with her very own Swiss Army Knife, but she hates violence so she won't use it to defend herself.)

They watch her with expressions of sly anticipation, waiting for her reaction. Becky's first impulse is to give them word for word, but thinks better of the notion at once. Six against one makes for very poor odds. Besides, they're not likely to fight fair.

They continue dripping insults that make her ears burn with shame and anger. But there's no way she'll let  _this_ lot know how much their words hurt- that'll only encourage them. 

She shuts her smarting eyes and begins to walk away. They move up on her so quickly that she doesn't realize she's surrounded until a calculated shove sends her sprawling. She's not ready for the tumble and lands hard, getting a face full of shockingly cold snow for her trouble.

As laughter fades into the distance she slowly extricates herself. The breath had been knocked out of her, and by the time she gets up she's soaking wet in the bargain.

Hot, angry tears slip over her cheeks. She scrubs them away with the back of the hand, picks up her bookbag and sprints for the safety of home, grateful for the cover of gathering darkness.

Becky enters the back door into the coffee shop, dashing up the stairs into the apartment before Mac can even take notice. She hastily strips and steps in the shower, letting the steaming water run over her bruises, the sound masking her sniffles as she sobs, half in anger, half in hurt.

********************

She has no intention of telling her uncle. He's got enough on his plate as it is, what with running the shop and worrying about Ralph Jerico (the new husband of Ellen, her ex-Aunt). Something happened last month between them that's making Mac real uneasy lately, that much she can tell.

Not to mention putting the finishing touches on his latest contraption.

"The most efficient engine there is," Mac enthuses, showing her the blueprints. "And the most environmentally safe. No more fossil fuels leaking their poisonous gases into the atmosphere. With the Impeller we can save the world and be rich at the same time. Sell the coffee shop, leave this town far behind us for good. Soon as I apply for the patent, the world will be knocking down our door. Promise."

She smiles, leaning against him. "I sure hope so, Unc." 

******************** 

Becky's had experience with bullying and put-downs before, back home. And for much the same reasons, except for being an out-of-towner. 

If she tells one of the teachers at school they probably won't believe her. She's a newcomer, unknown; Darryl and Lori's parents are bigwigs in the small town, and she's merely the niece of a barista who tinkers with crazy inventions. Given the circumstances, who'd be thought the liar?

Better to remain silent. 

Besides, once they've started, they won't leave her alone until they get the expected results, anyway. So she'll pretend to ignore them in the hopes they'll get bored soon, and leave her alone.

********************

Her hopes are in vain; the ignoring tactic's not working. Things start happening in school. 

Her History notes go missing one day. 

Someone scrawls dirty pictures in her Chemistry textbook. (She's mortified. Not by the pictures themselves, but the idea that someone might come to believe she'd be so careless with a  _book._ ) 

Another day a shove from behind sends her blundering to the linoleum floor. When she collects both her books and her wits there's no one to be seen who could've pushed her- though she hears faint giggles somewhere in the crowd around her. 

She's begun to acquire a certain reputation for awkwardness, as now she's pushed or tripped or a semi-regular basis. 

Becky tries to keep a stiff upper lip- as she once heard a British actor say on TV- but it continues. 

There's persecution of a more psychological nature, as well. 

Anonymous notes have started mysteriously appearing in her pockets or books, words calculated to pick her already shaky self-confidence to pieces. She can't show them to anyone else because they're written in a kind of ink that fades within moments of her reading them, leaving only scraps of blank paper. She tosses them in the wastebasket regardless.

But it's getting to the point where the mere sight of one almost brings her to the edge of tears. 

 


	3. A friend in need

Jack Dalton may be an ex-con and a drunkard but he's no fool.

Something's going on with Becky lately. He can see the signs- the red-rimmed eyes when she comes home from school, the furtive glances around her, the disconsolate sighs.

He likes her a lot. Such a bright, imaginative, sweet-natured and kind-hearted kid, who deserves a better future than to be stuck in this lousy two-bit town.

Mac hasn't a clue what's going on with her but if this is a sign of delayed grief, he'll eat his hat.

So one Wednesday afternoon while Mac's at hockey practice he flips the Open sign to Closed, installs her in the warmest corner of the shop and makes them both hot chocolate.

(He thinks longingly of the bottle of whiskey in his jacket, but refrains from adding it to his mug in her presence. She's still a minor, after all.)

"C'mon kiddo. You know I'll never tattle on you to Mac if you don't want me to." He keeps his voice soft, carefully coaxing the truth out of her. The hesitant, wary teenager that's replaced the cheerful Becky he's come to know and love like his own kid worries him. "But if you're not happy then I'm not happy. You know by now you can trust me, right?"

She nods slowly, hands clenched around the chipped china mug.

"So tell me what the problem is. I might even be able to help."

"Promise you won't tell Uncle Mac?"

"Scout's honor." He does the salute, rather poorly.

The corner of her mouth turns up in a wry smile. "Both Mom and Unc said you were never a Boy Scout."

"Doesn't mean I won't keep your secret, though. C'mon Becky, tell me."

And she does, though only of the shovings and destructive tricks, not the disappearing notes. (Even he'd find that hard to swallow.)

He's sure there's more to these pranks than she's telling him, and it bothers him she's not disclosing everything. But he's promised to keep his mouth shut; there's little else he can do but offer an emotional shelter and some advice.

"Don't go anywhere alone if you can help it. Try making friends tomorrow, even if it's someone you sit next to in homeroom. They can't all be jerks, right? And- here's a thought- always be within sight of one of the teachers. That'll keep 'em away. And if ever you need a shoulder to cry on, I got a lot of handkerchiefs."

That elicits a wan smile. "Thanks, Jack."

"No problem." Not that such advice ever worked for him as a kid, when he got picked on in school. But it's the least he can do, for Mac's niece.

********************

After sleeping on it Becky decides Jack's right, so the next day she starts making a few tentative overtures. A girl named Katie who sits across from her responds willingly enough, as do some others in choir.

By the next week she's acquired a small group of friends; the pranks begin to decrease in frequency almost immediately. She also follows his advice about the teachers, and in consequence the perpetrators of her misery soon find it nearly impossible even to slip those mysterious, hurtful notes in among her things without being seen.

Before the month's over the notes and pranks seem to have stopped completely. Becky's cheerfulness returns, and Jack heaves a profound mental sigh of relief.

********************

But that's not the end of the bullies' campaign. Not by a long shot.

For there's more afoot than petty harassment.

Ralph Jerico knows who Becky Grahme is, and after the debacle with Dalton and his planes (he's sure MacGyver's involved, somehow) he's determined to cause her uncle harm through her, no matter what.

He knows she's from out west, where they don't really know how to deal with winter. Especially thin ice.

So he talks the son of Donald Tollefsen (he knows the bank president well) and his friends into arranging a certain accident.

With a smirk he imagines his rival, utterly devastated by the news of his niece's tragic demise in the river.

 


	4. Angel in the ice

Early February, the coldest day of the year so far.

The sky's overcast, a dull leaden gray. The snow's creaky underfoot, the cold eating its way up from the ground to Becky's feet, even through her stout boots and three pairs of woolen stockings.

She's decided to swing by the library on the way home from school, where that nice Mrs. Krebsbach ("Do call me Eudora, dear.") has some books on hold.

Not for the first time Becky wonders why her uncle never moved out of Minnesota after the divorce. To someplace warmer, milder, gentler. The Gulf Coast of Texas maybe, or even the West Coast.

Yeah, Southern California sounds real nice on a day like this. Hollywood, endless warmth and sunshine. She imagines the three of them- herself, Mac and Jack- living in a house in Malibu overlooking the ocean, someday when they've got enough money to do whatever they want.

What was that song, that she used to hear on the record player at home all the time? About California dreaming? Sounds real nice, about now: warmth and palm trees, sparking blue ocean...

As she rounds a corner with her thoughts miles away she finds Darryl, Lori and their gang waiting for her. Not a friendly face in the bunch.

Before she can think to flee they grab for her, trying to pinion her arms and legs.

She's befuddled for only a second before she starts striking back in the way Jack's been teaching her on the sly, a no-holds-barred approach picked up during his stints in prison. Kicking, pulling hair and biting anywhere she can, muffled cries of pain attesting to the fact she's succeeding.

They pause for a second, and she takes advantage to bolt through a gap between two of the assailants. Almost manages a clean escape, until a flying tackle from behind sends her headfirst into a pile of dirty snow.

"Oh, poor little Western Geek," Lori coos in a sickly-sweet voice. "It's made a mess of itself. How awful!"

"Well, we'd better get it clean then, huh?" Darryl replies.

They pick her up before she can escape a second time; something's stuffed in her mouth before she can scream for help.

She's half-dragged, half-carried through town- acquiring numerous bumps and bruises along the way- over to the half-frozen river. Their footsteps crunch loudly on the ice.

"Into your bath, Western Geek!"

Becky realizes what they're about to do. In a panic she tries to wriggle loose and kick as hard as she can but to no avail, as they're all bigger and stronger than her.

"Hold it right there!" another boy's voice cries out. "Let her go."

"Cripes, it's Luke," Darryl mutters. "He's seen us. Let's dump her right now."

Without further ado they toss her into the air; she lands in the freezing waters of the river with a shock that drives what little breath she has out of her lungs.

The water closes over her head. She fights for the surface, clearing her mouth as she does, only to have her throat fill with water as she tries to breathe inches too soon. Finally she reaches air, choking and gasping in the icy wind.

As if by miracle a hand seizes the collar of her coat; she looks up, just making out a boy with blue eyes and dimples peering down at her, blond hair flopping onto his forehead. "Reach for my other hand," he urges.

She almost does in time, but the current's too strong. Finally he can't hold on for much longer and she slips away from his grasp.

She's not giving up completely, but what she can reach winds up being too slippery to grip and she realizes it's futile. There's no way she can haul herself up on top, anyway; her sodden clothing and waterlogged boots are pulling her down, the current's pulling her inexorably farther downstream.

Gradually Becky feels her limbs growing sluggish and unresponsive. Death from hypothermia soon, if not from asphyxiation first. She can't even get enough breath to cry for help.

One last thought before the darkness closes over her mind.

_I love you, Uncle Mac. Always._

 


	5. Someone's gonna rescue you

Luke Aidell's jogging along the river's edge, keeping a lazy eye on his surroundings. He's a junior in high school and very athletic, so he knows it's important to keep fit at a time when most folks feel like hibernating after the holidays.

There's a commotion ahead of him. It's that jerk Darryl, his girlfriend Lori and the rest of their foul crew, dragging something between them onto the ice.

"Into your bath, Western Geek!" Darryl cries out gleefully.

The figure struggles, and at first he thinks it's some stray dog, and they're drowning it just for kicks. Typical.

Then with a shock he realizes it not a dog. It's a _person_.

A petite girl, with glasses. Fighting for her life.

Becky Grahme, the new kid in town, from way out of state. The niece of the crazy barista-inventor guy.

And they're dumping _her_ in the river?

No way in hell is he letting that happen.

"Hold it right there! Let her go."

Darryl glares in his direction and mutters something. They throw the girl in the river and scurry away.

Already she's floundering in the water, gasping for air. He's been in the Boy Scouts, knows he has to act fast to save her before hypothermia sets in.

He crawls carefully to the edge, making a grab for her collar. Wide blue eyes meet his in astonishment. "Reach for my other hand," he says, holding it out towards her.

She almost makes it but fails; soon the current pulls her away from his grasp. He curses softly to himself as he watches her struggle, certain in the knowledge she'll die soon if he doesn't find somebody else to help him.

Then he spies a battered yellow cab crawling down the road alongside the river bank. The logo on the side reads _Fly-by-Night Taxi Service._

He knows who drives that cab, a slightly deranged ex-con. Who also knows the barista.

Luke sprints to the vehicle, flagging it down.

********************

All Jack wants of the afternoon is to find a secluded place by the river to park his taxi, leave the motor running for the heater and settle down with a rather salacious paperback by Henry Miller, taking an occasional sip at the bottle stashed in his jacket. Peace and quiet.

But there's a blond teenage boy with panic in his eyes, frantically waving him down. The cab lurches to a halt as he automatically pumps the brakes.

He rolls down the window, wincing at the icy breeze. "Need a lift home?"

"Your friend's niece got dumped in the river," the kid blurts out. "Please, you gotta help."

"Becky? But she's on her way home from school--"

"No, she's in the water. We gotta hurry!"

In a flash he's out of the cab, following the kid.

********************

Sergeant Olson's never really trusted Jack Dalton, that wily ex-con. Most times he believes the taxi to be a front for some nasty piece of business or another.

So whenever he's not on a call he follows the cab, at a discreet distance of course. Just to make sure.

He's usually bored to tears, as Dalton seems to be behaving himself these days. But not this time.

He watches the cab abruptly stop as a boy- whom he recognizes as young Luke- runs up and waves him down; Dalton and Luke converse, then they hurry down to the river.

Naturally he has to see what the hell's going on.

********************

Becky's almost given up hope.

Then there's another jerk at her coat; her head breaks the surface and a stubborn spark of life makes her cough and gag once more in the painfully icy air.

She's barely aware of being pulled across the ice and over to the bank, where she's pounded and pummeled until she's retching from the water coming out of her lungs. A babble of angry, frightened male voices fills her ears as she's wrapped in something heavy and made to drink a liquid that burns its way down her throat, bringing tears to her eyes and making her choke.

Once her vision clears of the dancing sparks- which had taken place of the darkness when they'd started pounding on her- she blinks up into the faces of two familiar men (Jack and the nice policeman, Sergeant Olson) and the blond boy who'd tried to rescue her earlier.

"Becky! You okay, kiddo? C'mon, say something!"

There's only one thing she can do in reply. She faints.

 


	6. Out of the cold

Mac leans his chin on his hand at the counter, his attention only half on Penny (five-shot half-caf at two-ten degrees, pumpkin spice syrup, hexagon spray, tan, no foam), who's nibbling on a banana nut muffin and happily babbling away as usual.

"...something's gone wrong with the spotlights, so could you be a dear and check it out and oh! Leonard told me the fog machine's on the fritz again 'cause we need it fixed for doing the witches' scene in _Macbeth-_ whoops, I mean the Scottish Play, bad luck to say the name out loud you know- and then the furnace's oil pump needs a quick checkup and..."

On a bitterly cold day like this he thinks of what life might've been like if he'd left with Jack and moved west, right after Mom died and the lawsuit and divorce were both settled. Visiting with Allison and her family in Oregon, then meandering down the coast to San Francisco and points south. Starting fresh, moving into a houseboat in Los Angeles or San Diego, opening a repair shop to make ends meet while working on his inventions and Jack flies his planes.

_Palm trees, sparkling blue ocean and sunshine, and how did that old song go? About California dreaming? Sounds real nice, about now._

"Oooh, something bad must've happened nearby," Penny says. "I hear the police car with the siren on and it's getting closer. Hey, why is it stopping here?"

He looks up to see Sergeant Olson pulling up to the curb, a taxi jerking to a halt behind him. Jack climbs out, then reaches into the back; when he turns around there's a dripping, bedraggled girl in his arms.

Mac's jaw drops when he sees it's Becky.

Olson gets ahead, pushing the door open. Jack and a blond teenage boy follow in his wake.

"Jack, what the hell happened?"

"Some kids threw Becky in the river. She would've drowned and frozen to death at the same time if Luke here hadn't seen what was going on. He even tried to rescue her first, though it turns out he needed more help from us."

Mac takes his niece, cradles her against him protectively. "Thanks a lot."

"No problem," says Luke. "It was Darryl Tollefsen and his crew. Saw them clear as day. Real mean of them to do that to her. She gave them a heck of a struggle before they tossed her in, though."

"That's my girl." She's still unconscious, lips blue and teeth chattering. He holds her even more tightly against him. "Better get her warmed up. Jack, give Dr. Ingqvist a call, tell him to get over here on the double."

"I'll go and get the hot water going in the bathtub," Penny volunteers before going upstairs.

"Already called the doc on the way over, through dispatch," Olson says. He turns to Luke. "Think you can give me a statement down at the station?"

"Sure thing, Sergeant." He glances towards Becky. "Tell her I'll check in on her later, see how she's doing. Okay, Mr. MacGyver?"

Mac startles. No one's called him by his full last name in a long time. "Um, yeah. Sure."

"I'll stay here and hold down the fort," Jack offers as Olson and Luke leave. "Need some hot coffee to warm up first, though. Ice rescuing is pretty cold work."

"Thanks." He dashes up the stairs with Becky in his arms. He touches her pale cheek gently, frowns at her shivering form, wonders if she's already caught pneumonia.

_Oh sweetheart,_ he thinks helplessly. _Who did this to you? How could I let this happen? What can I do to fix this?_

Penny's waiting by the bathtub full of steaming water, taking Becky from him with surprising ease. "I'll take over from here, Mac. She wouldn't want you around for this part, after all. This takes a woman's touch."

"You sure? I mean, I've known her since she was a baby. What if you--?"

She giggles. "Oh, Mac. You worry too much. Go fetch me her coziest pj's, then get her bed warmed up, you know, with a hot water bottle and those cute quilts she makes on top. I'll call you back when she's ready for bed. Now relax. I've got this."

"But, Penny--"

The door shuts firmly in his face.

He turns and leans against it, taking deep breaths and carefully relaxing his clenched jaw. He's filled with blind rage- the kind he's never believed himself capable of before- but somehow manages to keep it under control.

Who the hell would want to drown his princess, the best, most precious thing in his entire messed-up life?

He'll make them pay if it's the last thing he'll ever do. Somehow.

 


	7. Warm and alive

When Becky finally comes to she finds herself up to her neck in water again, but this time it's blessedly hot. A pair of hands are efficiently yet gently scrubbing her with soap, just like her mom used to do when she was a baby. She finds it kinda soothing.

Then more hot water pours down on her head, making her splutter. "Wha--" she coughs, her throat raw. "What happened?"

Penny grins at her, bright and bubbly as always. "Oh, you're awake. That's terrific! Mac's been so worried about you. I practically had to tear you away from him so you'd have the privacy to get your nasty wet stuff off before getting in the bath. He's not used to having a young woman around, you see, even though he was married to that silly Ellen for a while--"

God, it hurts to talk. "Penny," she rasps.

"Oh, sorry! Some really awful kids threw you in the river. You probably would've drowned for real if a nice boy named Luke hadn't seen you in time. Took him, Jack and Sergeant Olson to finally rescue you. How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Still cold." There seems to be an icy core inside the heat isn't touching yet. Some of the water is drained out, then more runs in that's fresher and hotter than before. It takes a while longer before she finally stops shivering and begins to relax. Then she's helped out of the tub, dried off, then put into her warmest pajamas. Surprisingly, Penny displays nothing of her usual clumsiness the whole time.

There's a knock on the door. "Hey, everything all right in there?"

"We're fine, Mac. She's awake, all nice and clean."

He scoops Becky up into his arms as soon as the door opens, murmuring reassurances- as much to himself as to her, she thinks- as he carries her and tucks her into bed. It's warm and she's glad of it, for once out of the small, steam-filled room the air's really cold in comparison.

Once the quilts are wrapped around her kindly old Dr. Ingqvist appears, the quintessential small-town general practitioner. He checks her out gently yet thoroughly, tutting to himself as he takes her temperature and listens to her breathing.

"Now Mac," she hears Penny say in the hallway, "don't you go worrying about how to pay the doctor or medicine bills, I'll make sure everything's taken care of. And I know Jack won't mind helping out downstairs while you take care of Becky, so don't worry about your coffee shop either."

"Thanks, but you know you don't have to--"

"Of course I do! You've never been paid for all the handyman stuff you do around the theater, so why don't we call this even. Besides, I like her; she's real sweet, and so good for you. You really shouldn't be by yourself without someone to love, you know. And-- gosh, look at the time! I'd better hurry or I'll be late for rehearsal. Tell Becky I'll see her later, okay? Bye!"

Mac's still shaking his head as he enters her bedroom. "So what's the news, doc?"

"A minor concussion I think, though the skull doesn't seem to be broken. And I'm sure you've noticed the fever, pneumonia's a real likelihood. I'll prescribe some antibiotics, but she needs a lot of care and rest over the next few weeks to fully recover."

He turns back to her. "You're going to be very sick for a while, young lady. It isn't anything that can't be cured by time and patience, but it won't be very pleasant, either. Can I count on your cooperation?"

"Yes, sir," she whispers.

"Good girl. Now take these pills." He produces two capsules and a glass of water.

She swallows them, grimacing at the taste, and drinks. Whatever's in the medicine must be pretty strong, for soon the throbbing pain in her head begins to recede, along with her alertness.

Just as she's about to go under she feels the gentle press of Mac's lips against her forehead. "Glad you're home, sweetheart. Sleep well."

Glad to be home, she thinks. Safe. Warm. Loved.

Becky closes her eyes and lets the healing darkness take her away.

********************

She wakes later to the soft strumming of a guitar. The room's still dark, though daylight slants in through shuttered blinds.

"Haven't heard you play in ages, Unc." A whisper is all she can mange, her throat hurts so much.

Mac moves to sit beside her, tenderly pushing hair away from her forehead. "Hey, Becky. How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Cold. Head hurts. Everything hurts."

He smiles sadly. "Yeah, I'll just bet."

"What time's it?"

"About two in the afternoon." A wry smile. "You're not much of a morning person, you know that? I mean, I know you're a night-owl and like sleeping in and all that, but this is something else."

She groans. "Please, Unc. I'm not in a mood for your jokes right now."

"Sorry." He gently caresses her cheek. "You gave me quite a scare, you know," he admits softly, "when Jack brought you into the shop."

"Now I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Doc Ingqvist stopped by earlier, says he's not surprised, you wearing yourself out like that; sometimes it happens in a life-or-death situation. He says you're gonna be sick and tired for a while longer. Jack swung by the drugstore and picked up some meds he wanted you to take." He holds up two amber-colored plastic bottles. "In fact, you're due for your next dose now, if you're up to it." He helps her to sit up just enough to swallow the pills with more water.

"You've been up here the whole time?"

"Yeah. Peace and quiet. Makes for a nice change."

"Who's minding the shop?"

"Jack. He's being amazingly diligent about it, too. Though in between serving he's boasting to everyone who comes in about how he went and saved you from an icy grave."

Becky groans. "Course he is. I bet the town gossips are having a field day."

"Yeah, but in a good way. The place is busier now than it has been in a long time, since everyone wants to know how you're doing. You wouldn't believe the number of tuna or hamburger hot dishes that have already been brought over, just so I don't have to cook."

"Hot dishes. Casseroles, you mean. Lovely." She yawns.

"Getting sleepy again?"

"Yeah."

He settles her carefully back against the pillows, kissing her forehead. "Anything else I can do?"

"Play for me?"

Mac smiles. "Whatever my princess wishes."

Soft guitar music follows her back into sleep.

 


	8. Reach out for me

For the next week and a half Becky drifts in a daze, sleeping and waking, obediently swallowing whatever's placed to her lips, letting herself be steered to and from the bathroom as needed.

She alternately freezes and burns. There are feverish, absurd nightmares but someone's always there to comfort and soothe them away, with guitar music or gentle touches and soft, smooth voices.

One morning she finds her head's clear for the first time in days and she's hungry. Gingerly she raises herself up into a sitting position.

The door opens and Mac pokes his head in. "Hey, you're awake. How're you doing?"

Blearily she rubs her eyes. "Fragile," she admits. "But a lot better."

"That's great." He lingers by the door, a melancholic trouble in his eyes though a smile remains on his lips.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you. What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing, Becky. Really."

"Don't lie to me, Unc. I know when there's something on your mind. C'mon, tell me already."

He shakes his head ruefully. "Never could hide anything from you, could I? Sergeant Olson stopped by with news."

"And?"

"Well, the ones who threw you in the river were caught last week; Luke identified them to the police. They swore up and down it was just a 'joke'." The scorn in his voice told her exactly what he thought of that. "Then their parents' lawyers came, paid bail and took them away. Just found out Darryl Tollefsen and Lori Saperson's both left town, headed for private schools somewhere back east. The other kids are still up on charges, though."

"So the ringleaders get away with it. Figures."

"Yeah." He looks down, scuffling the toe of one sneaker against the worn carpet.

"Something else on your mind, Unc?"

When his head lifts again she sees confusion and hurt in his eyes, along with a trace of anger. "Becky, why didn't you tell me you were being bullied in school?"

She groans. "Jack told you, didn't he? Even after he promised not to."

"Yeah well, I kinda forced it out of him."

"You've got enough going on already. I didn't want to add my troubles to yours."

"But that's exactly what you're supposed to do! I'm responsible for you; you should always come to me with your problems. I'll do my best to help you, and I'm always on your side, you know that. Did you honestly think I wouldn't believe you?"

"I...yes.." Becky's horrified at the admission, even more so at the slow, hot tears that begin to fall and her helplessness to stop them. "It's been so tough for you since I arrived, and I...I was afraid it'd make things even worse, and it'd be all my fault. You'd hate me..."

Mac's by her side in a moment, anger turned immediately to concern and a touch of guilt. "Oh sweetheart," he whispers, reaching to cradle her face with his long fingers, thumbs gently tracing the tear streaks. "That's not true. Not true at all. I could never hate you, never. It'd half kill me to lose you, you know that? We're family- no, we're more than that, aren't we. I'll never desert you or laugh at you, no matter what happens."

"I'm sorry," she sobs, pulling away from him as she tries to regain her self-control.

He brings her close against him again, holding her against a flannel-clad shoulder. "Hey, don't do that. You've been so brave since your folks died, haven't you? Everything's so different for you here, and you've coped with a lot already. Cry all you want. Let it go, Becky. I've got you. Always."

The tender care, the love and sincerity in his voice are too much for her. She yields with speechless gratitude, as the brave facade she's been holding up since her parents and brother died comes crumbling down. Mac cuddles her close to his heart the entire time, letting her sob herself into exhaustion.

"Feel better?" he asks, when the last of the tears are gone.

She manages a weak smile. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." He kisses the top of her head, then gently ruffles her hair. "Now, I think it's time you were out of bed, young lady. Why don't you go take a long, hot shower and I'll head downstairs and make us my special hot chocolate with marshmallows. Okay?"

"Okay. Hey, Unc?"

Nearly out the door, he turns back to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

He winks at her. "What else are uncles for?"

 


	9. Friends indeed

Though it's only late February, spring has arrived in Minnesota.

There's a change in the air. A touch of optimism. The ice has broken, metaphorically if not yet physically.

Mac notices it more and more every day, especially in regards to his niece.

Since her unfortunate adventure in the river and subsequent illness earlier in the month the townsfolk have been warming to her. She's gotten invites to join the sewing circle, the music teacher's grooming her to take a solo position in the choir next school year, the old bachelor farmers gently flirt with her as she serves them coffee and bright smiles on Saturdays.

(Ellen even stopped by to check up on her while she was recovering, with Ralph Jerico in tow. A cordial enough visit, though the brief frown on Jerico's face upon seeing Becky filled Mac with misgiving. He's still not sure why.)

A rare feeling of contentment fills him as he watches her sitting in one of the booths one afternoon, working on her homework. Her new friend Katie brought all her textbooks and assignments from the teachers yesterday and she's diligently making up for lost time. Things are a lot better at school in general, since the chief bullies left town so abruptly. Kids have room now to be themselves, free from terror.

The bell at the door sounds. It's Luke, the boy who helped save her life.

(Though obviously an athlete he shows a keen interest in Mac's inventions. It's nice to have someone else around to talk science with sometimes.)

He nods at Mac tentatively, who gestures towards Becky in a friendly "go ahead" fashion.

Luke smiles at her as he slides onto the bench. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all. Thanks for coming to my rescue. You know, earlier."

"No problem."

Without asking Mac brings over two mugs of hot chocolate. She smiles her thanks and he kisses her on the top of her head in reply, then returns to the counter.

"Ah, young love." Jack sighs with exaggeration as they watch the two teenagers converse.

"Stow it, why don't you?" Mac mutters, though he can't help but smile.

(Jack's apologized profusely about the breach of trust. She's graciously forgiven him. All is well.)

Mac cocks his head after she bids Luke farewell and he leaves. "So Beck, anything going on between you two I should know about?"

"Yeah, is there? He's kinda cute," Jack chimes in.

A faint blush tints her cheeks. "Aw, c'mon guys. We're just friends. That's all. No need to start acting parental over it."

"If you say so." The men trade smirks and she rolls her eyes.

"Seriously, Unc. No high school romances like you had with Ellen. I know better than that."

"That's good to hear, Becky. Really."

"Besides, after I finish school I've got better things to do than hang around this town. College on the West Coast if I can get a scholarship. Then once I get a good job, someplace warm for all three of us to live, I promise."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "All _three_ of us?"

"Uh-huh. Don't think I could make it without either of you."

"We feel the same way," Mac says softly, catching Jack's eye.

She reaches for their hands, squeezing them then releasing when the bell chimes again at the door.

Home is where the heart is, Mac thinks warmly as he goes to serve the next customer. And his heart's wherever his niece and best friend are. Simple as that.

Maybe someday they'll have the freedom away from Mission City to pursue their dreams, but for now they have each other, and that's enough for him.

 


End file.
